


Cold Feet

by lastSaskatchewanPirate



Series: Metaphorical Coffee [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, literal fluff, megatron is a little paranoid, rodimus has Opinions, you would be too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastSaskatchewanPirate/pseuds/lastSaskatchewanPirate
Summary: Rodimus has Opinions about a great many things, even the most seemingly innocuous.





	Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired initially by some unusual recommendations from Amazon based on my purchasing history, and then @weirdhawk poured kerosene on the fire with some marvelous suggestions of their own, and there you have it.

“Dude, is this some sort of obscure form of protest? Like, you’re only going to wear boring shit until all are one, or something?”

From his face-down sprawl across the bed, Megatron peeled one eye open long enough to give Rodimus a glare of sleepy incomprehension. Rodimus merely grinned in his most urchin-like fashion and patted Megatron’s ass with proprietary affection. Megatron continued staring at him until Rodimus rolled his eyes and deliberately snapped the waistband of Megatron’s boring grey boxer-briefs.

“Did you wake me up just to criticize my taste in underwear?”

Megatron sounded like his usual intimidating self, and the glare certainly wasn’t going to disabuse anyone of that notion, but Rodimus had known him long enough now to see the humor lurking behind the menace.

“Yep!” he chirped, deliberately popping the _p_ for emphasis, and patted Megatron’s ass again.

To be fair, it was an awfully nice ass for a grouchy old fossil, and Rodimus was inclined to avail himself of the flimsiest of excuses necessary to get his hands on it.

“What makes you think you have room to criticize anyone’s taste in underwear?” The smirk might be mostly hidden behind the ramparts of folded arms and pillows, but Rodimus didn’t need to see it to know it was there.

“Excuse you, my taste in underwear is _spectacular_.” Rodimus rose up onto his knees and turned around for the express purpose of shaking his rump – currently housed in black briefs with glittery unicorns frolicking across the back – in Megatron’s vicinity.

Predictably, Rodimus found himself face-down and ass-up in short order as Megatron tackled him to the bed, and the issue of underwear was put aside, much like the article itself.

*

“Your sock situation is critical.”

Megatron glanced up from his book to look at his feet instead. “How so?”

Rodimus poked one sock-clad toe – fluffy and bright pink; Megatron privately thought they made his feet look like Muppets, though he’d sooner die than admit to knowing what a Muppet was – at the sedate charcoal-grey jersey knit currently _in situ_ on Megatron’s feet. “Seriously? You sit there with your boring-ass Gold Toe six-pairs-for-a-buck grey socks, and you don’t see how dire this situation is?”

“They’re warm,” Megatron offered mildly.

“They’re boring.” Rodimus pouted as though boring socks had been created for the sole purpose of vexing him.

“They’re easy to sort.”

“They’re _boring_.”

“I don’t have to worry about finding matched socks in the dark.”

“Okay. First of all,” Rodimus sat up with the laser-focused expression of a man who has just discovered that someone on the Internet was wrong about something trivial, “matching socks are completely overrated as an indicator of either maturity or style. Second? Your socks. Are _boring_.”

Megatron hummed thoughtfully and returned his gaze – though not necessarily his attention – to his book. “Well, it’s very noble of you to put up with my boring socks.”

“It’s a trial,” Rodimus acknowledged with a grin.

“I wonder if there’s anything I could do to soothe the burden inflicted by such boring socks.” Megatron continued reading, shifting his position on the couch to stretch one long leg down the length of it, a move that happened to drop his foot directly in Rodimus’s crotch.

“I dunno,” said Rodimus, sounding a little breathless with anticipation, “I’m really suffering here. Did I mention they were cheap, too?”

“You did, yes.” Megatron began idly kneading his toes in a rhythmic, rippling motion.

A pink flush bloomed under Rodimus’s freckles. “Yeah, they’re, uh … they’re. Um. Cheap. And … uh …” The kneading increased its pace slightly. “Ah. Boring. Yeah.”

“Mmh. Tragic, really.” Megatron licked his thumb before turning the next page of his book. Rodimus made a small noise that was absolutely not a whimper. “So good of you to suffer for my sake.”

“Uhn,” said Rodimus, who had dropped his head against the back of the couch and was apparently preoccupied with things only tangentially related to socks.

Megatron didn’t bother to hide his smirk; Rodimus obviously wasn’t paying attention to his face at this point.

*

Megatron was fighting with the state’s medical records website, a hellish concatenation of broken links and badly designed forms, when the mail arrived. As usual, it consisted of a handful of flyers destined for a quick trip to the circular file, a small stack of bills and other high-priority paperwork, and a smaller stack of miscellaneous correspondence for Rung.

Unusually, it also included a package.

Stranger still, the package was addressed to Megatron.

He stared at it suspiciously for a long moment. While he certainly wouldn’t put it past the brute squad he used to run with – particularly Tarn, who had taken a very dim view of the whole “state’s evidence” thing – to send him a nasty little surprise in the post, and while they were certainly smart enough not to make said nasty little surprise too initially obvious in its packaging, he did kind of doubt their ability to forge Amazon’s custom packing tape with this much accuracy.

Still, better safe than sorry.

Megatron pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves from the box in his desk, picked up the box, and carried it out through the back of the office to the alley, where he set it inside an empty trash can. He then fetched a pair of five-gallon buckets, filled them from the utility sink in the janitor’s closet, and proceeded to pour both of them over the box in its galvanized containment unit.

Aside from getting very wet and releasing a couple of sad little air bubbles, the box did not observably react to this treatment.

Megatron sighed, and tipped over the trash can full of water. Once it had drained, he picked up the now sodden and structurally impaired box, set it on the overturned can, and ripped it open.

And stared, dumbfounded.

Okay, there was no way in hell the DJD had sent this to him. For one thing, none of them had the slightest thing resembling a sense of humor.

From the dilapidated remains of the box, Megatron carefully plucked a thoroughly saturated pair of socks. They appeared to be intended to resemble a pineapple, complete with green cuffs for the leaves and tiny gold embellishments for the spines.

Further inspection revealed the following: a pair of fuschia socks emblazoned with cupcakes and the words “Hope you like awesome”; a pair of teal socks depicting a kid reading a book, captioned “S’up, nerd”; a pair of socks that were probably supposed to look like bacon strips; and a half dozen pairs of incredibly soft boxer-briefs decorated with patterns of honey bees, sharks, robots, palm trees, assorted dogs wearing hats, and – his grudging favorite – tyrannosaurs.

Alone in the unsavory environment of the alley, Megatron began to laugh.

*

“Hey, Megs!”

The nickname might be annoying, but the genuine, guilelessly delighted smile that Rodimus turned on him in conjunction was absolutely worth it.

Rodimus scooted over and patted the seat beside him, still grinning. “I didn’t expect to see you here – Rung let you out early?”

Megatron dropped into the indicated seat; and if his smile was significantly more private and less dazzling, it was no less genuine than Roddy’s. “I asked if I could take off early today; I was hoping to catch you.”

“I’m caught,” said Rodimus, and his eyes– so blue, so intensely, captivatingly blue –seemed to glow. “Did you want to do something?”

“Dinner?”

Rodimus bounced in his seat. “Dude, that new Thai tapas place should be open now, we should totally go check it out.”

Megatron looked down long enough to gently nudge Roddy’s foot with his own. “That would be perfect.”

Rodimus glanced down at the nudge, and his eyes widened before he quickly looked away, biting his lip to hide the grin threatening to overtake his whole face.

A strip of sock was barely visible below the hem of Megatron’s faded Levi’s and above the top of his work boots; just enough to see the words “S’up, nerd” on a teal background.

“And maybe afterward,” Megatron purred quietly, leaning toward Rodimus, “we could go back to my place for something … sweet?”

Rodimus shivered, just a little, and the wattage of his grin increased. “I could sure go for some honey right about now ...”


End file.
